


Magnet

by thesepossessedbylight



Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: F/F, Pre-series Stella, early-series Dana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesepossessedbylight/pseuds/thesepossessedbylight
Summary: Stella Gibson, fresh off the late night shift at the Met, is sent to Washington DC for the most boring conference ever. When she visits a bar to unwind, she bumps into one Dana Scully, who is dealing with her own problems at work - her wavering certainty, and the knowledge that she's being used by the hierarchy to shut down the X-Files. Somehow it all devolves into sex - but fuck if it isn't the best sex Stella's ever had.





	

" _Maybe a great magnet pulls // all souls towards truth…”_

1993

Stella Gibson shifted slightly in her bar seat, leaning over slightly to signal the bartender. The little bar was busy, here on a Monday night in the seedier end of the students’ quarter in Washington DC, but the bartender made his way over to her with alacrity and poured her another generous helping of whisky. She nodded in thanks and flung back half the measure, setting the small glass down on the polished mahogany bar with a quiet clunk.

“Drowning your sorrows, eh babe?” a greasy-looking frat boy sidled up to her, a leer on his pimply face.

Probably wasn’t even twenty-one, she thought with an internal eye-roll, as she levelled a quiet, ice-blue glare at him. He tried to take it, smirking at her, but when she showed no signs either of softening or of speaking, his smirk wilted self-consciously on his face and he skulked off. She swivelled on her seat, navy skirt riding up a little beyond her knees: he slouched back to a group of similarly-dressed boys clustered around a table towards the bar’s back wall. He shook his head, looking disappointed, and they laughed at him, jeering like so many jackdaws. She turned back to her drink, picking up the glass and staring into its amber depths.

Solitary drinking in sleazy student bars was so far beyond her normal habits, Stella herself wasn’t quite sure how she’d ended up here. After two years as a beat cop for the London Met immediately after graduating university, she’d recently been promoted, on the fast track towards a position as a detective. It was a dream come true - and then after two weeks her boss had sent her off on a week-long training trip with the FBI. Another dream come true, if Stella was honest with herself: the idea of learning from the big guns was… well. It would help her career significantly. But today had been the first day of her course, and it had been possibly the most boring eight hours she’d ever sat through. Theory, theory, situational ethics, guidelines and more theory. Thanks, but no thanks.

And then when they’d finally been released she’d crawled back to her hotel room, ordered room service, and called her boyfriend Erik, currently back in London. A mistake. They’d ended up arguing - again - and the conversation had ended abruptly when he’d yelled, Fuck you too, Stella you fucking bitch, and slammed the phone down. Well. She’d debated phoning him back and laying out all the ways he’d been inadequate, hurt her, disappointed her, made her cry alone in her bed at two in the morning, but it had suddenly seemed like too much work, and she’d let the receiver fall back into its cradle. She lay on the bed for a few minutes, gazing up at the slightly grungy ceiling, before she realised that she felt too depressed to stay in.

Five minutes and a quick swipe of red lipstick later, she was out the door and walking to the nearest bar. An hour later, here she was getting hit on by frat boys who seemed barely old enough to wash their own faces.

She laughed slightly at her cynicism and took another long drought of whisky. At twenty-six she might be all of five years older than the boy who’d tried to hit on her, but something - her father’s death when she was fourteen, the subsequent struggle to keep her mother and brother afloat, something - had always made her seem older than her years. And consequently, she had no time for whiners, or boys who thought they were entitled to something. She leaned against the bar again, signalling the bartender. Frankly, it was a miracle she hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend before this. Maybe, she thought to herself as she nodded in acknowledgement of her new glass of whisky, maybe it was time to swear off relationships altogether, at least for a while.

She gazed into her whisky for a few long moments as she began the process of dismissing her memories of Erik from her mind. He would never change, she knew, and, well. She thought wryly to herself that his accusation that she was putting her career before him was not exactly off-piste. But she’d promised herself that the day her father died: career first, men, families, white picket fences a very firm second. No way was she going to change that for Erik. She smiled down at her glass and took another sip -

“Anyone sitting here?”

Stella turned her head so quickly she nearly cricked her neck. Swearing under her breath, she dug her fingers into the tendons to the side of her spine, bending her head forwards to stretch the tendons out, and gestured with her other hand towards the free seat next to her.

“Sorry about that,” the other woman now sitting next to her said in a low voice, and Stella heard the clink of a glass and muffled words as she ordered a drink. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Stella looked over, and the other woman slid a new whisky across the bar towards her. “Thought you might appreciate another one, to help with that neck,” she said wryly, and clinked her own glass of gin against Stella’s.

“Cheers,” Stella said, cocking her head to one side as she multitasked, tilting the glass to her lips at an awkward angle while surveying the red hair, bright blue eyes and baggy suit of the woman next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Stella used the time to gaze at the woman beside her out the corner of her eyes. Her clothes fitted her poorly, but in a way which Stella knew was designed to hide her curves and make her sexless, unalluring, straight-up-and-down. What a fucked-up world we live in, Stella thought, as she remembered how very many of her contemporaries had been brilliant at university, scintillatingly intelligent, and then how many of them had mysteriously failed to be taken seriously in the workplace…

“I’m Scully,” the redhead said abruptly, sticking out a hand.

“Stella,” she said, taking the proffered hand and squeezing firmly. Scully’s grip was equally firm and she raised an eyebrow, reassessing the petite woman beside her. “Why are you here, Scully?”

Scully rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her gin. Stella chuckled. “Should I not have asked?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Scully muttered, picking up a chip from the little dish that had mysteriously appeared in front of them and staring at it morosely. “I, uhh. I guess I got promoted a few days ago.”

“You guess?” Stella said, eyebrow hitched a little higher.

Scully shrugged. “Promoted, demoted, I don’t actually know. I work in law enforcement and I can tell already that this new position isn’t going to be anything like I expected. I’m just not sure if I want that, you know?”

Scully turned her gaze on Stella, and Stella felt it like a physical touch, firm, but not unwanted. It left her feeling unbalanced and oddly shy, and she blurted out, “What agency?”

“Sorry?” Scully’s right eyebrow hitched up, nearly at a perfect 45 degree angle.

Stella shook her head slightly, willing herself to keep her cool. “I work for the Metropolitan Police in London. I’m here for a conference with the FBI. What agency do you work for?”

Scully’s red lips formed a perfect ‘o’ of understanding. “The FBI, ironically enough.”

“Oh,” Stella said stupidly, eyes caught on the hint of amusement in Scully’s steel-blue gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t really be complaining to you about the conference, then.”

“Which conference?” Scully asked, and this time the amusement was more pronounced, her eyes the warm blue of a field of cornflowers.

“Global Agencies’ Training Response to International Terrorism?” Stella said, lowering her voice, and to her delight Scully leaned in, eyes fixed on the words being shaped by Stella’s lips.

Those perfect red lips parted in a grin, and Stella felt herself slipping, just a little.

“Oh. That one,” Scully said, signalling the bartender for another drink and pushing another glass of whisky towards Stella. “Boring, isn’t it? They do it every year.”

“Oh thank God,” Stella said, shoulders collapsing a little. “I thought I was going to have to pretend to be interested, just for you.” She lifted her glass as Scully laughed outright, clinking it against Scully’s before sipping again.

“What do you do in the FBI?” Stella asked, putting her glass back down on the bar.

“Heard of Fox Mulder? The X-Files?” Scully said softly, and Stella’s eyes widened. She muttered something incomprehensible in reply, and Scully nodded. “I’ve recently been assigned to work with Mulder on solving some of those cases.”

“Old Spooky?” Stella asked, attempting to hide her skepticism. “Thought you sounded, y’know, rational. Logical.”

“Fuck,” Scully muttered, almost too low for Stella to consciously hear, but she felt the word shoot through her like a physical thing, grounding itself deep in her abdomen. “That’s the problem.”

“Sorry,” Stella said, moving her head to meet Scully’s eyes where they stared, resigned, into her gin glass. Their gazes met, blue-on-blue, and held. Without a conscious decision on her part, Stella’s hand crept out, closing gently over Scully’s wrist, feeling the pulse thunder through her veins.

There was a long, silent pause.

And then Scully muttered, “No, it’s alright,” and turned her hand over in Stella’s grip, long, controlled fingers brushing gently against the pulse point on the underside of Stella’s wrist, and Stella thought she might shudder entirely out of her skin. Scully moved a little closer, knees brushing Stella’s as they sat on the tall bar stools.

“They want me to discredit his work,” she said quietly. “They think because I’m a woman in a male-dominated field, they can control me, tell me what to report. Make me their tool to shut down the X-Files.”

“You think there’s some truth in what Mulder’s doing?” Stella asked, breathless.

“I don’t know,” Scully said, looking frustrated. “But I know he thinks there is, and I object to being used.”

"What are you going to do?" Stella asked, after a while. Scully's thumb had begun to brush against the hard little nub of bone on the inner side of Stella's wrist. Stella wasn't sure Scully knew she was doing it, but it distracted Stella, caused her to lose the thread of her questions.

Scully shrugged. "What can I do?" she asked sadly. "He's a good person, looking for the truth as he sees it. I can't discredit his work, especially not when I'm not convinced it's entirely bunkum."

Stella slid off her stool, reaching into her bag, digging out some coins and throwing them on the table.

"Where're you going?" Scully asked, looking a little alarmed.

"To sober up," Stella said. "If I'm going to listen to you talking about little green men, I'm going to need some fresh air."

Scully slid off her bar stool as well, and followed Stella out the door, staying close enough that Stella could feel her body heat.

As Scully let the door of the bar swing shut behind her, she leaned even closer to Stella and whispered in her ear. "It's little grey men, actually."

Stella stopped dead, staring at Scully in shock. Scully crooked that perfect right eyebrow, staring at her with the world’s best poker face, and Stella burst out laughing, doubled over in the street. After a few minutes Scully’s mouth quirked, a smile fighting to be seen, and then her laughter got the better of her and she burst into a great hooting laugh. Once she started she seemed unable to stop, and she reached for Stella and held on, arm wrapped around her waist for support. Stella welcomed the contact, relished it, felt it burn the trace of Scully’s touch into her skin.

She stopped laughing.

Eventually, Scully’s laughter petered out into silence, little giggles still escaping her occasionally under her breath.

Neither of them moved. They felt rooted in place, Scully's arm still around Stella's waist, the palm of her hand hot on the small of Stella's back. Stella moved one arm, slowly, to frame Scully's face, deliberately telegraphing her movements. Scully didn't move, didn't jerk away, and finally Stella kissed her.

Soft, Stella thought muzzily. Soft and warm and inviting and - Scully’s lips had parted, and her tongue was teasing the crease of Stella’s lips. Stella groaned, low in her throat, and wrapped her free hand around the back of Scully’s neck, tilting her head gently to change their angle. Their lips slid together anew and this time it was Scully who moaned, enthusiastic.

Eventually Stella ran out of air, and she moved away, resting her forehead against Scully’s and panting for breath. One of Scully’s arms was still around Stella’s waist and Stella was acutely aware of its strong, sinuous weight. Scully’s other hand was cupping Stella’s jaw, thumb tracing minute circles against Stella’s jawbone.

“I don’t do this very often,” Scully whispered, lips shaping themselves around a secret which hung in the air between them.

“Do what,” Stella murmured, distracted, teasing her fingers gently down Scully’s perfect neck towards her collarbone.

“This,” Scully whispered, and she touched the underside of Stella’s breast with unmistakeable intent.

“Oh.” Stella’s voice sounded more uncertain than she’d intended, as the muscles of her abdomen clenched and her breath quickened at Scully’s touch.

“Unless you don’t…” Scully pulled back a little, putting distance between herself and Stella in order to stare at her, those appraising blue eyes analysing all the nuances of her expression.

“I wanna,” Stella said, and swallowed, clearing her throat. Scully’s eyes followed the movement of her jaw and Stella continued, newly confident, “I wanna fuck you, so badly.”

Scully’s eyes slid shut and she muttered in a low voice, “Fuck, that’s…”

Stella made an indeterminate noise at the back of her throat, and Scully’s eyes snapped open. “That’s so fucking hot,” she said, voice low like smoke and whisky.

Stella grinned, and disentangled herself, pulling Scully into a fast walk with one hand. “Good,” she said, as Scully broke into a trot to keep up. “My hotel’s around the corner.”

 

Stella’s suite was in darkness as she unlocked the door, and it was pure habit that made her switch on the lights, casting a searching glance around the sitting room/kitchenette, slipping into the bathroom to check for intruders and making her way into the bedroom, throwing the light on and glancing around, before she turned back to the open door…

Scully’s lips were on hers, body hot and lithe against her own as she backed Stella up against the wall. Before Stella could get a word in edgeways Scully had begun the process of disentangling Stella from her jacket, slipping her out of the heavy linen sleeves and throwing it haphazardly on the bed. Stella undid the clasp of her shoulder holster and began to take it off, but Scully reached for the straps, sliding them slowly down Stella’s arms, hefting the weight of her Sig Sauer. Stella watched the way Scully handled the gun, careful but unafraid as its size dwarfed her hands. Scully ejected the magazine, checked there were no bullets in the chamber, and put both gun and magazine into a bedside drawer before moving back to Stella, who reached for her.

“Fuck, you handling my gun,” Stella mumbled incoherently as she kissed a long line down Scully’s neck.

“Yeah?” Scully murmured into Stella’s ear, unbuttoning Stella’s shirt and parting it, revealing pale skin and a hint of breasts. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” Stella mumbled as she gave up on kissing, and licked the top of Scully’s right breast where it was exposed by the unbuttoned top of her shirt. She pulled the material aside, barely stopping to consider unbuttoning it further, in her quest for more skin. She could smell musk, here where the Scully-smell was strongest; musk and chypre and lemon, and it made her wild. With a sudden burst of muscle she twisted, flipping them around so that Scully’s back hit the wall with a muted thud. Stella used the couple of centimetres of height she had on Scully to crowd in close, shoving one knee in between Scully’s thighs, and at the muffled sound of Scully’s moan she closed her mouth over Scully’s lips in a bruising, desperate kiss. Already she felt wound up higher than usual, strung tight like an elastic at the point right before it breaks, and she fumbled at the buttons of Scully’s shirt, tearing them open just as Scully managed to push Stella’s own shirt off her shoulders.

The next few minutes were a blur: somehow they stripped themselves of their shirts and crowded closer again, reaching, fumbling for bra clasps and skirt zips. Scully’s fingers were hot on Stella’s back and Stella could hear Scully’s unsteady pants, close and loud in her ear as she finally cupped Scully’s breasts in both hands. Her skin was soft, so smooth, and somewhere at the back of her mind Stella thought inanely that she should ask Scully for the name of her dermatologist. Stella closed her mouth over one erect nipple, tugging with gentle teeth, and above her Scully let her head roll back, hitting the wall with a thump and a groan.

A few minutes later Stella felt Scully’s hands, shoving gently on her shoulders, and she looked up, mouth still closed around Scully’s nipple. Scully looked wrecked, she thought, eyes blown wide with a heady mix of desire and disbelief, and Stella grinned, wide, around the breast in her mouth. Scully jerked her head towards the bed, and Stella got the message: seconds later she was sprawled over her own bed, Scully hovering eagerly above her, and Stella wondered what she’d done to ever deserve this.

“I wanna fuck you,” Scully whispered, voice thready with arousal as her hand trailed down Stella’s ribcage, and Stella groaned, nodding vigorously as she unzipped her skirt, shoving it down her legs and arching against Scully, breasts dragging together as both women gasped. Scully’s hand in her pants was a revelation, fingers sliding sure and strong through Stella’s wetness, thumb curled knowingly against Stella’s clit, and Stella shuddered, twisting her hands through Scully’s red, red hair and pulling her down for a blazing-hot kiss. Scully’s fingers teased at Stella’s entrance, circling lightly just outside, as if unwilling to become committed.

Stella mumbled, sliding a hand down Scully’s lithe, nimble body into her own pants, “Wanna feel you inside, want you-” and Scully’s finger slipped inside, natural as anything. Stella gasped, the sound torn from the depths of her lungs and her fingers jerked, sliding slickly against Scully’s lips.

“God,” Stella muttered, awestruck and pleased as she circled Scully’s clit, eliciting a choked-off moan and Scully’s fingers spasming uncontrollably inside her. “You’re so wet.”

Scully nodded, meeting Stella’s eyes for the first time in several minutes. Stella shuddered again from the force of her gaze as Scully remained silent, eyes bright and wondering. Stella reached up with her free hand, bringing Scully’s lips to hers as she slipped inside of her, all slick, wet heat and shuddering moans as they kissed, lips slack and tongues entwined.

After a while Scully’s lips slipped from Stella’s and she began kissing a trail down Stella’s neck, thrown back against the sheets as she pushed back against Scully’s thrusts, arching her hips to catch the wave of pleasure that was rolling closer to shore. Scully was muttering something, fragmented words, disjointed and low against Stella’s skin, and it took Stella a few seconds to begin to piece the words together.

“Never knew…” Scully was muttering. “So good, so… new, my god I never…”

Stella’s eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get the words out the wave broke and she was coming, moaning Scully’s name with open lips as her entire body shook and her hand inside Scully spasmed, jerking against her g-spot and Scully went rigid against her, mouth open against Stella’s neck in a silent scream of pleasure.

Scully collapsed against Stella, lying slumped and panting against her chest as the aftershocks raced through her. Eventually, a long time later, after she’d caught her breath, she pulled out of Stella, sending the memories of shockwaves through Stella’s limbs. Stella reluctantly pulled out too, bringing her hand to her lips and licking the Scully-taste off her fingers. She sneaked a glance at Scully and saw that she was watching, eyes heavy-lidded with recent pleasure, and so she pulled Scully’s hand towards her and licked that, too.

Scully levered herself up, kissing Stella again as she muttered, the words private between them in the liminal space between their lips. “You’re something else again, aren’t you,” Scully was saying, and it wasn’t a question.

Stella grasped Scully’s face between both hands. “So are you,” she said softly. To her surprise, Scully blushed, blood rushing to her Irish complexion.

Stella raised a pale eyebrow. “First time with a woman?” she asked, voice gentle.

Scully nodded, beautiful eyes averted. Stella craned her neck to meet Scully’s gaze. “You were amazing," she said, and Scully's eyes widened.

"Yeah?" she asked, and Stella grinned.

"Yeah," she confirmed, idly stroking the side of Scully's jaw with a lazy finger, tracing the vertebrae of her spine with her other hand. Scully relaxed a little against her before craning upwards to press a warm, pleased kiss against her jaw.

A few minutes later Scully’s eyes were closed, her breath evening out into a slow, regular rhythm. Scully was angelic in sleep, still naked, flaming hair spread out over Stella’s shoulder like an uneven halo. As she drifted off to sleep, legs still tangled with Scully’s, Stella thought back to her decision to go to the bar, so many hours ago. What a night, she thought drowsily, and smiled. How much had changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Would Stella, a member of the Met police, carry a gun while in America? Probably not but it’s super hot so whatever. Also I’m like… Frankie Bergstein-level Not Cool With Guns, so ya know, this is all fantasy tbh.
> 
> Quote at the beginning obviously from k d lang's 'Constant Craving' bc I'm a stereotypical 90s lesbian.


End file.
